


Moments

by Louise_Hargadon



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25956805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louise_Hargadon/pseuds/Louise_Hargadon
Summary: A collection of ficlets detailing one character moment from an episode of Series One, combining it with a memory from the character's life, and exploring how it defines their actions for the rest of that episode. First up, The Captain!
Relationships: Carol/Pat (Ghosts TV 2019), The Captain (Ghosts TV 2019)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	1. The Captain

**Moments**

**1\. The Captain**

It had stung.

Had Alison or any of his fellow ghosts seen him, they would have known that. The way his nostrils flared slightly as he clenched his jaw, the way the furrow in the centre of his brow deepened. The way his deep blue eyes widened briefly in surprise, before being filled with a deep blue melancholy.

Nobody wants to be called a 'smelly old walrus', of all things. For a start, he was quite sure he didn't smell. In life, despite the confines of war, he had always been fastidious about that sort of thing. His hair parting, always exactly two and a half inches left of centre, perfectly neat. His moustache, perfectly trimmed to his lip line. Not even the tiniest blemish on any of his beautiful uniform. Had anyone accused him of having even the slightest trace of body odour in the trenches, he would have asked them outside for satisfaction. Or even a fight.

He had been handsome. For so many years he had convinced himself that this wasn't something that he had a right to be vain or egotistical about, he was handsome in the same way that he was right handed, or had two legs. It was simply a part of him. Perhaps he had fooled himself. Perhaps he had become vain. Perhaps he had simply aged into an 'old walrus'. Not 'smelly', though. He had to draw the line somewhere, for pity's sake.

Everything about the Captain had always been so precise and measured. The way he dressed. The way he spoke. The way he lost his temper just enough to be able to regain control within a split second, when order had been reestablished. The way he lay in bed, refusing to relax even when he was horizontal. Even the way he had loved was meticulous and precise and... and - oh! - how he regretted it.

The chap's name had been Robert. He came from somewhere outside Manchester, the Captain could never remember where. His family had moved from the West Indies at the outbreak of the Great War, which the Captain himself had just missed out on the conscription for. Robert, through no fault of his own, had been stuck as a Corporal since the start of the war, while the Captain had taken his promotions gratefully, finally insisting on Robert's promotion to Acting First Lieutenant when he became Captain. A Captain needed men around him that he could trust, after all, and there was nobody that the Captain trusted more than Robert. He had a smile that lit up the dimly lit barracks like the brightest stars in the sky, beautiful deep brown eyes that twinkled with mischief, his hands were large and rough, and so warm.

One evening, the Captain sat at his makeshift desk, drinking a mug of newly-arrived Camp Coffee and pretending that it tasted just as good as the real thing, when he heard two soldiers chatting amongst themselves on their way past his door. They probably had no idea that he could hear them, and he knew they would never have dared speak so insolently to his face.

"He's a right queer one, that Captain," one said. The Captain looked up sharply at the word, a stinging sensation burning the back of his nose.

"I wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't some special reason he got the promotion for the-" the other one said, before stopping his sentence short. The Captain knew what the soldier meant. He almost dared him to say the word out loud. "You know. The Lieutenant. You never see them apart. Like peas in a pod! Well, like peas and carrots, anyway!"

"He's probably been enjoying his own Camp Coffee for longer than we think!" the first soldier said, before both of them cackled dirtily and carried on their merry way.

The Captain glared at the coffee in his tin mug with a venomous hatred for a few moments before picking the mug up and tipping the rest of the drink onto the floor, sickened to his stomach. At that moment, Robert walked into the office and saluted.

"Happy to report, sir, the first patrol of the evening were wi'out incident," he said, his thick Mancunian accent almost making him incomprehensible. The Captain pinched his lips together and nodded briefly.

"Very good. Carry on, Lieutenant," he said, nodding his dismissal. Robert frowned.

"Forgive me, but... What's to do, Captain?" he asked. The Captain sat back a little in his chair, not quite relaxed enough to count as a 'slump', but certainly a 'lean'.

"Oh, it's nothing, just..." he said, shaking his head. "Just... I think sometimes I'd like the Army a lot better if it weren't for the bally soldiers!"

"You heard them too? Don't pay 'em no heed, sir. They ain't no different to us - they all wipe their arse wi' paper!" Robert said, carelessly.

"I don't like the word 'queer', that's all. It sounds strange and unnatural and... I mean for God's sake, Robert, haven't we both sacrificed enough already for the King? Haven't we experienced strange and unnatural and downright queer things in the normal course of war?" he asked. Robert thought about it for a moment.

"Aye, sir. That we have."

"Then I don't see why our friendship should be classed as 'queer' when without it, I am in no doubt that both of us would have died many times over. Admittedly, me more than you. Possibly. A little. Once or twice," he said, straightening his tie and smoothing it down the front of his shirt.

Robert shook his head and smiled, and the Captain instantly felt the sunshine warmth return to his soul. He walked over to the Captain and squeezed his shoulder with his large, strong, warm hand and the Captain felt as though nothing could ever make him feel cold inside again.

"Yer daft 'ap'eth!" Robert said with a chuckle. "When are you ever going to learn to just ignore folk? Who cares about being accepted? You can no more control that than t'sunrise! Make these bastards respect you. Now that's summat you've complete control over. You're the Captain!"

Tentatively, the Captain reached his hand up and placed it over Robert's, squeezing it affectionately.

He never dreamed of telling Robert how he really felt about him - there was too much to lose on all counts - and he had never spoken about their friendship since the day he died. Instead, he had loyally kept Robert's memory safely stored in its own perfect, immaculate box in the Captain's heart, to be unpacked and revisited infrequently, when he was really needed.

He could almost hear Robert now, those deep, velvety Mancunian tones calling him 'a daft ha'peth' for being upset about the 'smelly old walrus' line. Even after all those long years, just the thought of Robert's voice brought the warmth back to the Captain's heart as strongly as ever. Without even realising it, a genuine, warm smile spread across the Captain's face, his cheeks dimpling at the memory of his long-lost friend.

"Make these bastards respect you!" he heard Robert say.

The Captain nodded and cleared his throat. Standing up, he straightened his shoulders and brushed down his sleeves. Those bally fools needed his help, whether they knew it or not. Somehow, he was going to make sure he saved the lot of them. Even Alison!

Before the day was out, those bastards were going to jolly well respect him, once and for all...


	2. Pat

**2\. Pat**

Pat had always had cute, chubby little legs. It never mattered to him that his legs were only little. They had always taken him wherever he needed to go, and they looked good in shorts. Right now, those glorious little legs were running as fast as they could carry him, away from Alison, away from everyone, as he fought to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks.

He couldn't believe he had asked Alison to kill his Carol! Had he been dead for so long that his jealousy over her affair with Maurice had finally stripped him of every last part of his humanity?

Of course not. Jealousy was one of the most human emotions on the planet, even though he hadn't recognised it in himself before. After all, what need did ghosts have for jealousy? They were going to live forever, they couldn't eat, they couldn't earn more or less than anyone else - what things did they have to be jealous of? He had always presumed that they couldn't even fall in love, although Thomas seemed to fall in love every other week, but perhaps that was more of a Regency poet thing...

He remembered falling in love with Carol. The very first time he saw her, outside the local dance hall one Friday night. He had turned up with his friends at exactly seven-thirty, the same time they turned up every single week without fail. Carol sat on the wall outside the dance hall, swinging her legs carelessly as she talked to her friend Beryl. Her legs weren't chubby like Pat's, they were slender and shapely and, as far as Pat could see, were the exact reason that the mini-skirt had been invented. Unbeknown to him at the time, she had moved to the town from Rotherham a couple of weeks earlier, and her parents thought that a night at the dance hall would be good for her, help her to make new friends, stop her from moping around the house because she missed her old friends back home. This was her home now, and for better or worse, she was stuck. Fortunately, Beryl only lived a few doors down from her and had instantly taken her under her wing, so that Carol felt quite at home already.

Carol had laughed at something Beryl had said, a bright, bubbly giggle that sounded like music to Pat's ears, and when she absentmindedly turned her head and caught Pat's eye, somewhere deep inside he knew that his life would never be the same again.

"Hello!" he said, smiling so widely his face started to hurt. She smiled back at him.

"Hello!"

"Pat!" his friend Barry had called to him, waving him over. "Don't talk to the girls!" Pat turned towards Barry and began walking towards him when he had a sudden and inexplicable change of heart.

"My name's Pat," he said, turning back to her. She nodded.

"I think your friends want you," she said, pointing over to Barry.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Carol."

"Carol. That's so pretty. It... it makes me think of Christmas!" he said. She giggled and he felt as though at last, this must be what it really felt like to be a man.

"I was born at Christmas," she said.

"Well, Andy Williams did say it's the most wonderful time of the year," Pat said, eagerly. Carol smiled at him and nodded.

"It was nice to meet you, Pat," she said. "Maybe I'll see you inside."

"Yes, I'll be there until closing. My friends and I usually just stand in the corner drinking cola and looking up... well, it doesn't matter... but it's been a while since I danced!" he said, emboldened by a strange sensation in his tummy and possibly even lower than that, he wasn't quite sure.

"You look like you've got the legs for it," she said, giggling again. Pat beamed at her and couldn't help but laugh as well.

"They've always got me wherever I've needed to go!" he said - and then, for reasons he still wasn't sure of, he did the least Pat-like thing he had ever done in his life. He winked. He actually winked. At a girl. Like he was some sort of modern-day Lothario fella! He couldn't help but blush as he realised what he had done, and Carol stopped giggling and got off the wall. She walked over to him and slipped her hand into his.

"Well why don't you and I get on the dance floor and you can show me what your little legs have got?" she asked, winking back at him.

The memory rolled lazily through Pat's mind like a welcome hug. He had never needed to be jealous when it came to Carol, or so he had thought. He had loved her from that moment until this one. All he had ever wanted for her was to be happy. Since the day she had remarried Maurice, he had only been happy that she had someone to care for her and support her, as he would have done had it not been for the rogue arrow.

Perhaps it had been his fault, perhaps he had become so preoccupied with the Scouts that he hadn't paid her as much attention as he used to, perhaps the daily grind of working for a living and bringing up the kids had taken the excitement and romance out of life for her. He hadn't noticed. He was with Carol, that was all he had ever wanted, he didn't care if they were walking down the street holding hands or sitting down watching telly on a Sunday night after a big roast dinner. In hindsight, he knew he should have held her hand more often, or bought her flowers once in a while, or not insisted on three out of four Saturdays being taken up with the Scouts.

He had often regretted the time he hadn't spent with her, he had always regretted the fact he never got to say goodbye to her, he never got to tell her one last time just how much he loved her, and how her and the kids were the best things that had ever happened to him. That was all he had wanted Alison to say in the first place - that he was safe, and that he loved her.

It had been well over thirty years since he'd died, now. The time had flown in so many ways. He'd seen the kids grow up, he'd seen Carol grow older, he'd definitely seen Maurice's hair thin out a lot more. Maybe Alison was right. Maybe he should just let things lie.

He looked outside the window at the tree stump where he eventually met his end. That, too, had long since gone since he had arrived at Button House. He had settled into a routine with his new makeshift family, he had a new role as peacemaker and morale booster. He was needed. He belonged.

He had nothing but good memories of his life with Carol - all he had to do was trust that her memories of him were just as happy.


	3. Robin

**3\. Robin**

Robin was a man of simple tastes. He didn't ask for much, because he didn't need much. Give Robin a chess set and a few light bulbs to fuse when he got bored, and he was as happy as a cave bear chasing boars.

There was, however, one thing he insisted upon, and that was to perform the sacred rite for the Moon every lunar eclipse. With all credit to his fellow ghosts, they had agreed that an evening of dancing and chanting once every few months was more than reasonable, considering Robin had been on the land the longest.

Until this lunar eclipse, when Alison had ruined everything. They were right in the middle of the ceremony! She could have waited! Whatever she was doing, it wasn't as important as the Moon. But now she had distracted everyone else with the light circle and magic square and they were watching something called Friends on it. No eclipse was going to be celebrated properly that night.

Robin wasn't angry at his friends. He was just sad that he had missed the chance to be with his best friend.

He remembered when he was a small boy, and he had been caught out doing something naughty. He couldn't remember what he'd done, it was thousands of years ago now - but he did remember that as punishment his parents had told him that he wasn't allowed to attend the lunar eclipse ceremony that night, and he would have to stay at home all by himself.

At first Robin was scared, in case the Moon thought that his absence meant that he didn't love it, and would send a curse down and strike him and his family dead, and it would all be his fault for being naughty in the first place. Then, when he heard all the chanting and the music outside the hut, he felt jealous. Jealous that everyone else was getting to spend time thanking the Moon for everything it had done for them, for giving them light at night and making the sun go away so they could get a good night's sleep before a long day's hunting. Jealous that they were all dancing and eating and singing and having fun and he wasn't. The Moon may as well curse him and strike him down, he was having a bad enough night as it was.

He tried to distract himself by going to sleep, but the noise outside of everyone having a good time, and the smell of the roasting deer made his tummy feel sore with emptiness. He wasn't just hungry. For the first time, Robin felt lonely. Of all the people in his tribe, he was the only one who had been told he had to stay inside. He was the only one who was missing out on the ceremony and the dancing. He was all alone, with no family and no friends. Everyone was having a wonderful night without him. He didn't think anyone would have even missed him.

He pushed aside the bearskin covering he slept under and sat up. He had to think of something to do to pass the time, even if he was all by himself. Eventually he decided to walk into the woods and see if he could find any fruit or berries to eat in case they might fill his sad, empty tummy.

When he stepped outside of the hut, he looked up at the sky. Directly above his head, shining its cool, gentle light, was the Moon. Robin beamed at it.

"Moonah!" he said, no louder than a whisper, unable to believe that it was really there, outside his house, waiting for him. The Moon didn't answer him back, and Robin didn't need it to. It looked down at him, smiling kindly, remaining steadfastly up in the sky, right above him. It didn't matter to the Moon that Robin had missed this celebration. The Moon had come to find him. The Moon thought he was special. Perhaps he was, he didn't know. All he knew was that it didn't matter what his parents said or did, or how they tried to keep him away from the Moon, the Moon was his friend and would always be there for him, shining brightly, keeping him safe.

Eventually his family staggered back home after a heavy night's chanting, a little worse for wear after drinking too much sacred berry juice. Robin was positively bursting with excitement to tell them the news about his unexpected visitor, as he was sure that they would be every bit as thrilled as he was.

"You miss Moonah," his father said, his tone grave as he walked into the hut. "No good happen."

"No miss Moonah," Robin said with a smile as he shook his head. "Moonah find me."

"Moonah find you?" his mother asked, pointing at him. Robin nodded.

"Moonah visit me. Moonah Robin friend."

There was a brief pause in the hut before his mother and father looked at each other and burst out laughing, much to Robin's dismay. He thought that his family would be proud, maybe even a little awed, that the Moon had singled him out for a visit all of his own. The last thing in the world he had expected was that they would laugh at him.

"Robin funny!" his father said, clapping him a little too hard on the back and almost making poor Robin fall flat on his face.

"Robin no friend of Moonah!" his mother said, laughing as she pointed at him again. "Moonah special light in sky, not need friend!"

"Moonah FRIEND!" Robin shouted, crossing his arms and pouting angrily. "Moonah visit me. Moonah know truth!"

"Robin tired. Need sleep," his mother said, her laughs now having calmed down to fitful chuckles. "Moonah need sleep," she said, pointing to the sky, which was just starting to brighten as the sun began to wake up. She kissed Robin on the forehead and moved the bearskin covers of his bed back so that he could climb in.

"Moonah friend," Robin said, stubbornly, as he pulled the bearskin over him. His mother nodded, still trying to contain her laughter.

"Need sleep," she repeated, ruffling her fingers gently through his hair as he lay down.

There was a tiny crack in the wall of the hut next to Robin's bed that he never complained about because the breeze made him feel cooler in the hot months. Now he looked out of it and saw the Moon, still smiling at him. Robin smiled back. He knew that the Moon was his friend, and no matter what, they would stay friends forever.

Now, thousands of years after their friendship began, Robin once again found himself unable to join in with the eclipse ceremony, and once again all of his friends were having fun without him, watching the small people on the magic square sitting on chairs and drinking coffee. He sat on the large window ledge and looked up at the sky. The Moon shone down at him, smiling at him the way it always had done. Robin smiled back, longing to go outside and feel the moonbeams on his skin again.

No matter how many years passed, and how many friends came and went, Robin would always have his Moonah - and the Moon would always have Robin, its most dedicated worshipper.


End file.
